


Cardamom and Pepper Kick

by Byacolate



Series: Bubble, Without Toil or Trouble [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Human Zenyatta, M/M, Noodle Dragons, Oracle Zenyatta, Witch Genji, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:38:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9212012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: The oracle has nothing to offer but fortuitous omens and a cup of milk tea.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naopao](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naopao/gifts).



> Naopao asked for a little slice of Genyatta during the events of the short witchy librarian McHanzo AU, so it had to be done. It isn't necessary to read the first fic for this one, though it'll make a few bits and pieces a little more understandable. All that's relevant is that Hanzo is a librarian witch, Genji is a witch blogger, and Hanzo's caught in a blizzard in the library with McCree.

Triple-checking that the twine is secure around his familiar’s claws, Genji sends her off through the window of the cabin where he watches until she disappears through the treeline. A long line of heat comes to stand beside him, and Genji can feel each individual press of five fingers through his sweater. 

 

“The chiya is ready,” Zenyatta says, warm and melodic in Genji’s ear. “Will you take some with me?”

 

He looks sideways and up, and grins. “Your chiya? I wouldn’t miss it.”

 

Genji didn’t grow up in humble spaces - raised in a castle on a sprawling estate made acclimatizing to modest rural living something of a challenge. But not a chore - never a chore, sharing space in a cozy little home with Zenyatta. 

 

Genji doesn’t make much as a blogger on the antique and arcane, but people come from far and wide to visit the oracle Tekhartha and hear his prophetic words. He doesn’t ask for money, his visions intended to fill a need, charitable and magnanimous to wealthy eccentrics and beggars alike. But often their donations are generous; the poor give what they can, and the rich keep them comfortable. Such is the philanthropy Zenyatta’s nature inspires. 

 

Everything Zenyatta does is a labor of a deep, profound love of people, from the fortune he reads in their palms, to the cloth charms he blesses nightly for the next day’s wave of hopefuls, to the hot cup of chiya he pours and nestles between Genji’s chilled hands. Before he can pull away, Genji catches Zenyatta’s hand and presses a kiss to the backs of his fingers.

 

“Thank you for the drink,” he says, and turns Zenyatta’s hand over, kissing his palm. Zenyatta smiles. Shifts his hand to cup Genji’s cheek.

 

“You are quite welcome.”

 

Genji pulls the blanket on the sofa aside, and Zenyatta nestles in beside him with his own mug. There’s a film playing on the TV - a documentary Zenyatta picked himself - but his eyes are fixated on the snowfall outside. A woman with a prim English accent talks on in the background, little more than white noise as Genji follows Zenyatta’s gaze. 

 

The chiya is good. Zenyatta’s chiya is always good, not too sweet, with a heady cardamom and pepper kick that he makes just for Genji. It leaves a biting ginger trail over his tongue and down his throat, warming him through to the bone. 

 

They sit quietly together watching the storm build outside, content in their own thoughts until Zenyatta’s voice chimes, a welcome interruption. “I sense your brother’s new acquaintance will offer more to his tale than they might expect.”

 

Genji glances up from his window, resting his cheek on Zenyatta’s shoulder. “Huh. Should I text him?”

 

Zenyatta’s hand, warm from his mug, reaches up to brush Genji’s cheek. The motion brings the silver band on his ring finger into the glow of the fireplace, flickering with light. “Have patience, dear heart. All things come with time.”

 

Leaning fully against him, Genji sighs. “And I joked about him getting laid, too.”

 

Soft laughter, like the chime of a temple bell, signals the shift of Zenyatta’s hand from Genji’s face back to his mug. The weight of his head upon Genji’s. The soft, sweetly spiced warmth of his breath on Genji’s cheek. “I saw you sent him one of my candles.”

 

“Jasmine,” Genji says smugly. 

 

He can hear the smile in Zenyatta’s voice. “Without your hand, I fear the wheel of fate would never turn.”

 

“Not quickly enough.”

 

“No, never quite as fast as you would like.”

 

Genji dutifully takes their mugs to the kitchen when they’ve drained them and returns first to throw another log on the fire, and then to collapse back at his place by Zenyatta’s side. He pats Zenyatta’s thigh and takes both of his long legs into his lap, slipping a hand up the hem of his favorite mustard yellow trousers. Watching Zenyatta stretch out over the old red sofa cushions is much more interesting than the building storm outside. 

 

“So tell me, before I start to feel left out,” he says, kneading at Zenyatta’s calf just to watch his dark, impossibly long eyelashes flutter. “What does my future hold? Will I be rich? Will I win the lottery?”

 

Sprawled horizontally as he is, Zenyatta’s laugh comes from deep in his throat, rich and not a little breathy. “A monetary lottery, or one more metaphorical?”

 

“I asked for numbers, not philosophy,” Genji tuts, rubbing down Zenyatta’s ankle to his foot. He presses his thumb down the arch before tracing the festive nutcracker on his sock. “So, wise prophet, please tell me… if great wealth doesn’t lie before me, what about fame?”

 

“Fame, as in all things measured by degrees, is subjective. You possess your own share of fame now, do you not?”

 

Genji sighs, shaking his head and knitting his eyebrows together in a mockery of woe. He leaves the little nutcracker alone in favor of crossing Zenyatta’s neglected leg over the other and taking his topmost foot in both hands to massage the delicate arch. “Tell me then, great and powerful seer - what about adventure? Surely my life will be full of travel and exploration, daring feats and escapades.”

 

“Some would say that every day with you is an adventure.” Zenyatta’s long fingers draw slowly up his own stomach to rest against his chest, and Genji is captivated by the sight. 

 

“And lovers?” Genji prompts. “Will I take many?”

 

“You have so much love to give. Fortune befalls any who bask in the warmth of your affection. But I have no numbers to offer you.”

 

“Then romance.” Genji digs his thumbs between the balls of Zenyatta’s feet, grinning at the way his breath hitches, how his elegant fingers curl into a fist at the center of his chest. “I have to know, clever, captivating sage: what do you see when you look into my future? Will I know one great love, above all others?”

 

Zenyatta’s eyes open slowly, and a languid smile touches his lips. “I would answer your flirtations were I not married.” 

 

“Married?” He lifts Zenyatta’s foot, pressing it to his chest. “This is tragic! Of course someone would have been taken by your beauty and your charms. I was too slow. But, ah… I think I can make this right.”

 

“Can you?” Zenyatta asks, rolling his head over the arm of the sofa to give Genji a devastating smile.

 

“Look into my future,” Genji pleads, stripping the sock from his foot and pressing a kiss to Zenyatta’s toes. “Tell me you can see me steal you away, and we’ll run tonight.” 

 

Zenyatta pushes himself up then, pulling his foot from Genji’s grasp, he straddles Genji's lap. He draws soft lines down Genji’s jaw with a few fingers before he tips his chin up.

 

“I’m afraid that is impossible.”

 

“Nothing is impossible for a famous and adventurous romantic such as myself.”

 

Zenyatta leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. “It is impossible,” he repeats, “because as charming as you are, as handsome and famous, as adventurous and romantic, my husband is all of these things tenfold.”

 

“Now  _ that _ is impossible.” Genji turns his head and Zenyatta ignores his puckered lips, kissing his nose instead.

 

“One would think. But... imagine drinking the ocean dry in a day. Imagine pulling the moon from the sky with a single ball of yarn. Imagine convincing every sparrow on the Earth that it ought never fly again. Even in a world where all these things are possible,” he murmurs, softly kissing the corner of Genji’s mouth, “still I could not be parted from his side.”

 

"I could not sway you from loving him?" Genji asks, tilting his face up toward Zenyatta like a lowly flower reaching for the sun. Zenyatta's nose brushes Genji's and he takes a kiss, happily given.

 

"Not in all your days."

 

 

The storm carries on out the window, building snowdrifts high enough to touch the windowpane. But the fire roars on in the hearth and in the heart, and Genji does not once feel the cold.

**Author's Note:**

> Chiya is a traditional Nepali milk tea. Zenatta can also make a mean raksi when Genji feels like getting turnt off his ass.
> 
> Inquire about fic requests [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> Tumblr: [wardencommando](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).  
> Battle.net ID: byacolate#1589


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